The Taft Story

The Taft Story

The Taft Story

The Taft Story

Excerpt

In Cincinnati, a sedate, withdrawn and rather ingrown city behind the wall of the Ohio River, most of the best people mourn, in an offhand, well-bred way, a man they had known for forty years or so and had not in fact known at all. Senator Robert A. Taft came from Cincinnati in the most exact meaning of that phrase. He was from it, but not of it, and though it was reasonably correct to call him "Mr. Republican" and not too far out to call him "Mr. Congress" no one could sensibly have called him "Mr. Cincinnati," or "Mr. Ohio" either, for that matter.

The most casual inquiry among Mr. Taft's peers in Cincinnati -- the brokers, bankers, corporation lawyers and the like who used to see him stalk unseeingly into and out of the Queen City Club -- makes it abundantly clear that this was not really his home. Their views of him are tight, tidy, enormously assured -- and profoundly oversimplified and wrong.

They had, and have, a series of images as neat and as uninforming as a panel of photographs of the kind that one sometimes sees in old family albums -- the smiling infant, the boy just setting off for the first time to school, the young . . .

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